


Side Story

by LeDiz



Series: The 48: TMNT [2]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012)
Genre: Donnie being an unsung hero, F/M, Irma as a human, Pre-Kraang invasion, episode-style fic, would never have been canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 06:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8045473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeDiz/pseuds/LeDiz
Summary: Okay, so having a minor tantrum about April and Casey on a date wasn't Donnie's brightest move and got him kidnapped, but it's not like his brothers noticed and he is totally gonna get himself out of this. Somehow.





	Side Story

It wasn’t surprising, but still annoying when Saturday afternoon came and they couldn’t find Donatello.

“I can’t believe that guy!” Raphael cried, throwing his hands up. “Why is he such a creep?”

“You never know, he might not be,” Michelangelo said slowly. “He might be… at the junk yard.”

“Oh come on. Not even you’re that stupid. First of all, it’s daylight – he wouldn’t be able to get in,” he snapped. “Second of all, April and Casey’s date starts in an hour and he knows we wouldn’t have let him go out while it’s happening.”

Leonardo frowned, eyes sweeping the lab with a heavy feeling of disappointment. Donatello had been in a weird mood since Casey had come in on Thursday, crowing because April had finally agreed to an official date. At first, it had been denial and anger that Casey would stoop so low in their little competition to lie, until April found out Casey had told them and awkwardly admitted it was true. After that, Donatello had varied between closed off fury, ranting to himself in the tunnels where he thought no one could hear, and a really scary kind of depression where he just sat and stared at nothing much at all.

He’d tried talking to him. They all had. They’d mostly been treated to snark, dismissive orders, or in one memorable case, an hour long lecture on how he was using Kraang computer code to develop a translator that would work without any Kraang communication technology on hand. Michelangelo had stumbled out of the lab after that, looking mildly traumatised, and the lab door had been locked behind him.

But honestly, Leonardo was still disappointed. He’d known Donatello wouldn’t just get over April, but following her on her date was just…

“So what’re we going to do, Fearless Leader?” Raphael demanded. “We gonna go track him down, or let him screw up royally and suffer the consequences?”

He sighed. “Let me try his T-Phone one more time. If he doesn’t answer, then we’ll head over to April’s.”

 

* * *

 

The jangling of his phone roused Donatello out of blissful darkness, and he automatically tried to reach for it, only to stop when the movement caused a clanking sound and pulled at his other hand. He forced his eyes open, and found himself staring at a metal table, his arms stretched in front of him. A slight lift to his head revealed they were cuffed together, the chain that joined them linked through a heavy metal ring on the table.

And then it all came rushing back. His mid-morning tantrum in his parts graveyard. Going stalking through the storm drain tunnels and ranting at the top of his lungs. Coming face-to-face with the Foot-bots, led by Baxter Stockman and Xever, who had apparently been scouring the area for Kraang and heard him. The embarrassing excuse for a fight in which he utterly failed to save himself from a solid clock to the right temple and went down for the count.

He looked up and across the table, to where Stockman was jerking and poking at his T-Phone, which was still ringing.

“T-Phone: self-destruct!” Donatello snapped out, and it immediately sparked, causing Stockman to drop it. As the phone hit the table, that massive fly head turned toward him, and Donatello instantly grinned. “Hi.”

“You fool,” he hissed. “That phone was your only way out of here.”

“Oh, I’m sure something’ll present itself,” he said, and looked around the room. It was a concrete box, with one heavy metal door and one tiny barred window near the ceiling, though it seemed to look into darkness, not the outside world. Next to the now-smoking T-Phone was his mutagen tracker, smoke bombs, and grappling hook. Only then did he notice the spatting was gone from his hands, and his leather straps and elbow pads were missing. A quick glance down showed he’d been stripped of everything else, too, and he raised an eye ridge at Stockman. “Uh, were you expecting to find a zipper or something?”

The door opened, and they both looked around to watch Xever come in, twirling Donatello’s staff through his hands. He had distressingly good form, though he was slow.

“This is much heavier than I expected,” he noted. “It seems so flexible when you fight.”

Donatello narrowed his eyes again, but said nothing.

“How do you make the blade come out?” he asked, eyeing the end with the barely perceptible sheath. “Is it some kind of mechanism? A switch blade?”

“Look a little closer,” Donatello invited. “You’ll see it eventually.”

One bulging eye flicked toward him, before the staff swung around, and Donatello found himself looking down the sheath himself.

“Or maybe I should just experiment until I find the release, eh, boy?” he asked. “I’m sure you will tell me when I’m close.”

“No! Do not harm him!” Stockman said, waving his hands frantically. “Not until we kn-know for sure!”

Donatello glanced at him, then back to Xever, who hesitated for ten more seconds before pulling the staff back and away. “You live only as long as you are useful to us,” he said. “And Stockman hopes that is not long, because the length of his life may prove dependent on yours.”

Which was a weird enough threat to actually hold his attention. “What do you mean?”

“You had the r-retro-mutagen,” Stockman said. “The girl said you could make m-more.”

He pulled back a little, looking between them with slightly wider eyes. “I can’t make retro-mutagen for you.”

“So she was lying?” Xever asked Stockman, who slammed a hand against the table.

“She wasn’t! I know she wasn’t! She said it would take months! Then hours, but I th-think that was a lie. But she said Donatello could do it.”

Xever slanted a sideways look at Donatello. “And you’re sure this is the right one? Isn’t Donatello the orange one?”

Huh. That grated, for some reason. “What’s the matter? Can’t tell your turtles apart?”

“I’m s-sure of it!” Stockman said, and pointed at him. “He was the one who had the r-retro-mutagen! Both times! It was him!”

“Well then,” Xever said, and put one hand on the table so he could lean in, fishy smell filling Donatello’s nose. “That means you are the one who is lying, little turtle.”

In other circumstances, Donatello might have chafed at the word ‘little’, or shot back a snarky comment. But right now, he was literally down to his shell, chained to a table, and couldn’t see any easy way out. So he just frowned and turned his head away. “I’m not lying. I can’t make retro-mutagen for you.”

“You had better have a good reason, or there will be turtle soup on the table tonight.”

Always with the turtle soup with this guy, Donatello couldn’t help noticing. There were like, five different things people used turtles for, but all he could ever come up with was soup. “Simple. No material,” he said blankly. “It’s a very specific chemical makeup. It would be a good thing for me and my brothers if you guys—well, Fishface and Rahzar, at least—were made human again, so why do you think I don’t throw grenades of the stuff at you in every fight? I can’t make what I don’t have the materials for, and these aren’t ingredients you can pick up at the market.”

He kept his face blank as Xever sneered and pulled back, obviously used to such an excuse from Stockman. Because it was a legitimate one, and also true. A good scientist was limited only by the materials at his disposal. They didn’t need to know that the only material he couldn’t get himself was the ooze, and they also didn’t need to know that the only material he couldn’t get here was April.

“But if you were to have those materials, you could make retro-mutagen,” Xever said slowly. “Thus, you have a use to us.”

He did some quick calculations. Having a use meant he would be kept alive, but captive. Not having a use would more likely make him bait to bring in his brothers. And he was well aware they wouldn’t be otherwise looking for him today. “Not really.”

“Oh? You have a death wish, then.”

“No, but I am that rare and fragile flower that is an honest ninja,” he said. “And I can tell you that there is no way you are getting the materials I would need to make retro-mutagen. Ipso facto, I cannot make it for you, and quod erat demonstrandum, I am of limited use to you.”

“What materials are those that we would never get?” he demanded, and Donatello blinked once.

“Honest, yes. Stupid, no. I give you the recipe to retro-mutagen, you kill me, fine, then manage to get your hands on the missing ingredients sometime in the future. Dexter Stockboy here makes it, and you turn my brothers back into ordinary turtles,” he said, and shook his head. “No.”

“It’s Baxter Stockman!” Stockman snapped, and Donatello looked at him for the barest of moments, which was all it took for Xever to swing the staff around until it was literally a centimetre from Donatello’s eye.

“I don’t see how it will make any difference to you, as you will soon be dead.”

He clenched his jaw, pushing the nerves and adrenaline back down where he could deal with them later. “Maybe. But you won’t be any closer to finding what you need.”

“You found the solution!” Stockman hissed. “I can too!”

It took all Donatello’s remaining guts to look past the staff and fix him with his most arrogant, condescending, scientist smirk. “Having seen your work… Meh. Adversus solem ne loquitor.”

“Uhh,” Xever said, staff dipping slightly in his confusion, while Stockman seethed as only an acid-spitting fly can.

“How dare you, you insignificant fool! I have created the greatest of achievements! My genius is unparalleled! Unnnnlimited by discipline! Engineering! Chemistry! Biology! You could n-never hope to m-match my kn-knowledge!” he cried, and Donatello turned his attention back to the staff and Xever, doing quick calculations. “You only learned the s-secret first because you are l-limited to a singular field of s-study! You w-wish you could reach the –”

Donatello snatched the end of the staff and slammed it down against the table, the other end smacking into Xever’s jaw and making him lose his grip for the split second it took for Donatello to grab with both hands, find the switch and jam his naginata blade into the chain between his hands. Thankfully, it broke on the first hit, and he kicked himself out of the chair, swinging the staff over his hands until he could get a better grip.

By that point, Xever had recovered and was swearing at him, while Stockman was thankfully still too shocked to react. Knowing the small area of the cell gave him an extremely limited timeframe, Donatello swung his naginata up over his head, then twisted down and straight for Xever’s neck. He jumped out of the way, but the time it took was all Donatello needed to roll over the table, slap Stockman upside the head, and get out the door.

Which was, in a sadly unsurprising state of affairs, where he met Bradford.

 

* * *

 

It was weird, watching April meet Casey in front of the little Italian deli.

Leonardo couldn’t quite explain why, though if anyone asked he’d say it was because he felt like a creeper. But something about it felt… irritating. In an unfamiliar way. He found himself inexplicably annoyed with both of them, and especially April.

Which was stupid, because they deserved to go out. Have dates. Do normal things like normal teenagers.

Jerks.

He grimaced and turned his back on the scene, looking around the rooftops in search of his wayward brother as he picked his T-Phone out of his belt and dialled.

“Yeah, Leo,” Raphael answered. “You find him?”

He sighed. “I’m going to assume he wasn’t at April’s, then?”

“Nope. No sign of him. Though April did leave him a note, which is all kinds of…” He paused, and Leonardo could kind of see why. Donatello wasn’t the only weird one in his relationship with April. “Mikey says we should leave it here in case he shows. What do you think?”

He was damn sure they should get rid of it. But that was the protective brother in him talking, so he sighed again. “Leave it. Things can’t get much worse than they are. Where d’you think we should go next?”

 

* * *

 

“Hello? Is someone in there?” a voice called. “I can hear groaning. Please don’t be a monster, because I’ve seriously had enough of those for today.”

The memories came back slowly, and Donatello opened his eyes to find himself in a room similar to the last one, though without the table, and this time he was cuffed directly to the wall with his hands over his head. He made a face at them.

“Hello? If you can answer me, I’d really like to know I’m not talking to a zombie.”

“Not a zombie,” he said, and looked around for the source of the voice. “But only recently conscious.”

“Oh. Aside from that meaning you’ve been unconscious, that’s good to know. Are you a prisoner too?”

“Um… yes. Where are you?” he asked, and just happened to look up in time to see a small human hand poke through the bars in the window directly above him.

“Next door. I’ve been trapped in here for over an hour. I guess since you’ve been unconscious, you don’t know where we are either?”

“Not except in the strictest sense,” he admitted. “Which is that we’re in concrete cells in a building currently occupied by a group called the Foot.”

“The Foot? Like… hands and feet?”

So she wasn’t familiar with them. But then, most people weren’t, from what April told him. They were an underworld problem. So this girl, whoever she was… actually, her voice sounded kind of familiar… He spent a couple of seconds trying to place her, and when that failed, went back to the conversation. “You’re not tied up, are you?”

“No. I think they just put me in here to keep me out of the way while they deal with some bigger problem. Which I’m guessing was you, maybe? Are you a cop?”

He laughed weakly. “Well, I was almost definitely the bigger problem. But I’ve been dealt with, which means our time is limited.” He twisted his head down and around so he could look at his shackles. Just like the ones from the table, they were tight not around his wrists, but his elbows, which were thinner than his forearms. Someone had been paying attention to mutant turtle physiology, or had guessed that he’d be able to work his hands free if all they caught was his wrist. But that did mean he could just reach one shackle with the opposite hand. All he needed was something long and metal… “Sorry to ask a potentially sexist question, but you don’t happen to wear hair pins, do you?”

“Uh, no problem, because yeah, I do. Why?”

“Mind lending me one?”

“Oh my gosh. Are you going to pick a lock with them? I didn’t know that was actually possible!”

“Feasible is the better word,” he corrected. “It depends on how strong your pin is.”

“Uh… probably not very. Are you ready?”

He looked up to see her hand reaching through the bars again, this time holding a little metal clip. “Hang on,” he said, and slid down the wall as best he could, then pulled his shoulders as far out of his shell as they’d go, trying to reduce the gap as much as he could. He didn’t trust his ability to catch with his hands as they were. “Okay, drop.”

As expected, the pin missed his hands, but bounced off his nose and onto his plastron. He huffed at it, then twisted so it went onto the floor. From there, it was a lot of awkward gymnastics to get his foot on it and toes clasped around it. He cursed his long limbs, wished he was any other species but turtle, and curled in on himself to get his foot up within reaching distance of his captured arm.

Once the pin was securely in his fingers, he collapsed. “That was so much more trouble than it was worth,” he gasped, before sitting up and feeling the clip with both hands.

“Um… that sounded like a lot of effort for lock-picking,” the girl said awkwardly, and he chuckled.

“That was just getting the pin in hand. But the good news is I think this’ll work,” he said, and set to work. “So, can I ask what your name is?”

“I’m Irma.”

Irma. April’s friend. The girl that fainted all the time. He bit back another dry laugh, thinking about small worlds and cities with eight million people. “Nice to meet you. I’m Donnie.”

“I hope you don’t mind me saying so, Donnie, but you sound kinda young to be a lot of trouble for these guys. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’ve been dealing with monsters today. One of them was a giant zombie dog!”

“I didn’t say I was a _lot_ of trouble. Just enough to be a problem,” he said. “Well, actually, they want me to be a solution, but that’s not happening. So how’d you get mixed up in all this?”

“Ugh. It’s so embarrassing.”

“Believe me, it can’t be half as bad as my version,” he assured her, and she gave what might have been an unamused laugh or a half-hearted sob.

“I don’t know about that. I know we just met in a cell after being kidnapped by mutant zombie dogs name after physical extremities, but no judgement, okay?” she said, then sighed loudly. “They found me in the sewers.”

Well, that he’d figured, but he kept that thought to himself, merely prompting, “What were you doing there?”

“No judgement, right?”

“Your hair bling is literally saving my sh… self right now,” he said, as he finally cracked the first shackle and could switch hands to start on the other. “And I stand by the fact my version’s probably going to be worse.”

“Well… I was… kind of… stalking my best friend.”

He paused, peeking over his shoulder at the wall as if he could see through it. “What?”

“Ugh. It’s as bad as it _sounds_. My friend, April, right? She’s been doing this thing lately where she just disappears without any warning, for like, hours at a time, and all she ever says is that she’s dating this idiot Casey, which I figured was a total lie, because she started doing it around the same time as her dad first disappeared—long story, don’t ask—which is months before she even _met_ Casey. I’m really worried about her, so lately I’ve kind of taken to, you know, following her around a little,” she said, and then groaned. “I usually lose her really quick; she’s like, ninja fast when she wants to be. But today she was all distracted and weird, I think, so I was able to follow her when she went into this old subway tunnel, and then she was just wandering around for a while, and I was getting super worried about her, and then I kind of… took a wrong turn and ended up in the sewers and it was really gross, and then I was freaking out, and then suddenly I walk into this group of—I kid you not—ninjas and this big zombie dog and it was like, so not cool. And… next thing I know… I wake up in here.”

April had been in the sewers this morning? Donatello frowned. He hadn’t slept in the last thirty hours, so he would have known if she’d come to the lair. Maybe she changed her mind? Oh, heck, she wasn’t captured too, was she? Damn! Now he’d have to have a look around for her too, and she’d see him without any of his gear, and ugh. And no doubt Casey would have told the guys she’d skipped their date, and with both of them missing, everyone would probably think he’d done something to screw everything up on purpose. “Can today get any worse?”

“Exactly what I thought,” Irma agreed, and he flinched, not having realised he’d spoken aloud, but then chuckled.

He freed his other arm and stretched in triumph, before lowering his hands to check the damage Xever and Bradford had done to him so far. Once he was content with the knowledge they’d just gotten some well-aimed hits in, and it was nothing some ice and a few hours rest wouldn’t cure, he started pushing himself to his feet.

“Okay, we’re on the right track. I’m gonna hang on to this clip for a minute, if that’s okay with you, Irma,” he said, heading toward the door. “See if I can’t get us out.”

“Hey, whatever you can do. I’m stuck here twiddling my thumbs,” she said. “But you owe me some conciliation. What’s your story that you were so sure was going to be more embarrassing than mine?”

“Ugh. Yeah. Nothing so noble,” he admitted as he knelt down in front of the lock. “I was upset about something and didn’t look where I was going, and the Foot got the drop on me.”

“I don’t see the problem,” she said. “Are you like, some super hero who never gets ambushed, or something?”

He winced. Technically, a ninja shouldn’t stumble into as many dumb situations as he seemed to, but… “No, it’s what I was upset about that’s the embarrassing thing. See, uh… _my_ best friend has a date today. With a guy that… isn’t me.”

“Ohhh,” she said. “I’m guessing this best friend doesn’t know you’d be interested in dating.”

“Oh, she knows,” he said, and sighed. “She just… isn’t.”

“Ouch. Sorry to hear that.”

He grimaced but didn’t bother to respond. Granted, he was more used to using his lockpicks than a hair pin, but this lock just wasn’t agreeing with him. He pulled the pin out and tried to peer inside, only to grunt as he realised there was probably an electronic lock. The keyhole was a holdover from whenever this place was built.

And without even a magnet, that meant he was useless from this side of the door.

He stood up and turned around, eyeing the ceiling. There was an air vent, but an unmutated Spike would have only just fit through it. Slightly more promising was the light, though it being currently lit put him at a good risk of electrocution and – ah, whatever, he’d been hurt worse. And he didn’t want to still be here by the time Shredder found out he was captured and good bait for Splinter.

“Hey, Irma, if I scream, don’t panic,” he said as he unhooked the light cover.

“Uhhh… yeah, _that_ sounds reassuring,” she said dryly. “What are you doing?”

“Something stupid,” he said. “The lights might go out too, but if that happens, try and get to the door and tell me if it opens. Either way, it’s probably better than them staying on.”

“Right… uh, seriously, what are you doing?”

“A couple of different things. Mostly I want to fry a circuit.”

Irma’s hands wrapped around the bars, and he could see her trying to jump up and see. Luckily, she was too short for anything more than the top of her head to clear the window. “So you never told me why these guys are so interested in you. I mean, I just seem to have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but you’re clearly a bigger deal.”

He grimaced. “You know how you didn’t know about these guys until today? Well, you’re not supposed to know about me, either, so… sorry.”

“Oh, come on, like I’m supposed to be happy with that?”

“Well, it’s all you’re getting.”

 

* * *

 

Michelangelo flung himself backward until he was hanging upside down from the ladder by his knees, arms folded over his chest. “You guys starting to get the feeling Donnie’s not out here?”

Leonardo looked to Raphael, who grimaced and looked back down to where Casey and April were flicking through CDs at a road stall. They’d been kind of following, kind of anticipating where the date would go, staking out April’s usual hangouts and places that might be good date spots, and when that failed to reveal Donatello, they’d resorted to tracking down their friends instead.

“I dunno. Donnie’s always been really good at stealth,” Leonardo said, rubbing the back of his neck. “He might just be hiding from us.”

“For three hours?” Raphael asked, raising an eye ridge. “I dunno, Leo. He’s good, but I’m pretty sure he would have messed up at least when they had that ice cream before.”

Heck, they’d all nearly messed up when that happened. Even growing up as they had, there was something kind of gross about licking the same ice cream cone when you were older than five. Though if it was Karai’s ice cream, Leonardo figured he wouldn’t mind… He inwardly slapped himself and turned back to his brothers.

“Well, then I’m out of ideas. He wasn’t in the lab, or his parts yard, or his room. Where else is he gonna go?”

“Somewhere we wouldn’t look,” Michelangelo said thoughtfully. “’Cause he doesn’t want to talk.”

“So, somewhere not Donnie. Raph, where would you go?”

He did a double-tale, then scowled, but took a couple of seconds to think about it. “I dunno. You guys don’t follow me when I get mad, so I’m not worried about it.”

“You’re never away long enough for us to look for you,” Michelangelo corrected, and then pulled himself up to think. “If I was Donnie thinking about where Michelangelo would go to look for me, I –”

He cut off at a quiet beeping from Raphael’s belt, and they all looked at it. He blinked twice, then awkwardly pulled out his T-phone and grimaced before answering it. “Hi, Casey… uh… yeah, that – yeah.” He walked back to the edge of the building and waved.

Leonardo edged up beside him and peeked down to where both April and Casey were glaring up at them through the darkness. “Spotted us, huh?”

“April’s been sensing us for a while,” Raphael muttered. “She thought it was Donnie.”

He stared. “And she’s only just now doing something about it?”

“Is it still stalking if she likes it?” Michelangelo asked quietly, and Leonardo frowned at him, while Raphael went back to the phone.

“Actually, he’s not here… No… I’m not covering for him, that’d be stupid… You wanna come up here and say that?” he snapped, and leaned over the roof to point at him furiously. “Yeah, you think you’re tough, shielded by all those humans, but you just wait until I get you in an alley, tough guy and I’ll –”

Leonardo slapped a hand over his face. Somehow, this day just kept getting worse.

 

* * *

 

“Gyah-hah, ow!” Donatello yelped as electricity danced down his arm, but still grinned as the light flared and then exploded, and Irma squeaked as hers went out too. He rushed over to the door, checked that it was still, unfortunately, sealed, before pressing himself against the wall beside it.

“Donnie?” Irma called. “Was that you?”

“Shh!” he ordered, and closed his eyes, waiting.

Sure enough, the door opened just a crack, and as a torch beam shone through, he turned his head into the metal, trying to keep his eyes in darkness.

“I know that was you, turtle,” Xever’s voice hissed. “You will not fool me.”

He waited silently, easing his arms up slowly to minimise the leather sound of his skin folding. His fingers found the top of the door, but only one hand could get a proper grip with how small the gap was. He’d need Xever to open it further if he had any hope of forcing it.

“Bradford might think you are useful only as bait for the rat. But I have seen what you can do.” The door opened enough that Donatello was able to curl both hands properly, but still he waited, listening for fur or buzzing wings. “You are the one who builds the machines. The weapons. And you do it with less than that idiot Stockman. A power outage is simple to you.”

Come on, just a little further… take a step inside, come on…

The torch light flicked up into the corners near the ceiling, Xever obviously expecting a ninja to take to high ground. “Ah… I see.” And with that, he slammed the door all the way open, so fast that Donatello barely had time to yank himself up and over, landing clumsily on the doorframe before half-jumping, half-falling onto Xever’s head. He shoved off as best he could, but although that got him into the hallway, Xever’s heavy metal legs had barely shifted with his weight, and soon there was a blade headed for his shoulder.

“Whoa!” His scissor kick was even clumsier than his landing had been, but it made Xever yank back, and he was able to scramble to his feet. “I’ll be back for you, Irma!” he yelled, before sprinting down the hall.

Oh man, oh man, oh man. He did not like this. He did not like this at all. His eyes darted in every direction as he went, searching for open doors, larger vents, _anything_ in Xever’s bouncing torchlight. It was hardly the first time he’d been in a building where he didn’t know the layout, but not only was he alone, without weapons, and up against who knew how many Foot bots, let alone Rahzar, Fishface and Buzzkill, but he needed to rescue Irma and probably April. The odds, he knew from a depressing automatic calculation, could have been better.

His longer legs were proving faster than Xever’s machines, but that wouldn’t help as long as he kept on a straight course. He threw himself around the first corner he found, bounced off the wall to get high and then slammed his limbs out to catch himself.

Xever slid in underneath him, and Donatello pulled back, holding his breath as he ran through possible outcomes. But this time, Fishface didn’t look up, instead running his torchlight over the doors that spotted this corridor.

“Very clever… you plan to re-equip yourself before attempting an escape…”

Donatello blinked. So this hall had equipment? Good to know.

“Or is that just what you want me to think? Will you go around…?” Xever slowly moved forward to the first door, and as he opened it, Donatello took his chance to drop down and back into the original corridor.

Okay. Okay, breathe. Calm. Let the thoughts order themselves.

Stockman was smart, but he wasn’t creative. He wouldn’t have made the same leap as Xever, that Donatello had fried the system from a light source, because he’d think you couldn’t get that sort of power from something so basic. So he would look to the power board, the computers… giving Donatello another three minutes of darkness, at least. Bradford valued the more physical tenets of ninjutsu. Chances were, he would have instantly gone on high alert, thinking it was an assault. And Xever had come to check on him alone. No Foot bot entourage. Which meant they were probably following Bradford’s orders. Fanning out, ready for an attack.

So he had three minutes of darkness, his intelligence, and the value of surprise against every enemy but one.

Against at least six Foot bots, the walking sushi train, zombie dog and fly boy. And he had to get two girls out of here alive, one of whom he had to avoid letting see him, or she was likely to faint. Great. Just… great.

He peeked around the corner again, to find Xever had moved down three doors, and was only one away from the end of the corridor.

These rooms had equipment. But what kind?

Well, whatever it was, it had to be better than his bare hands and winning personality. Donatello rolled fast to the first door, and carefully opened it at the same time as Xever opened the last one, then slipped inside.

Pitch black. Great.

He waited for his eyes to adjust, slowly making out what looked like a rack of safety suits. He dared to reach out and touch, then sighed irritably as he confirmed that’s what they were. He’d walked into a cupboard.

Still… he looked down at himself, then back up at the suit. “Well, they do say one size fits all.”

And, as it turned out, it did. Mostly. He was about fifteen centimetres too short, and the neck got a little caught on the top of his shell, so when he pulled on the helmet, it sagged at an awkward angle. But the important thing was that he could see, and no one could see anything of him except his hands. Which were probably the last thing a girl would be worried about in this situation. Even better was that the suit came equipped with a safety light, and when he turned it on, he found a broom and a ledger.

Mostly, the ledger was just dates and times, leading up to about a month ago. But on the very back cover, it was stamped with a company logo he recognised. If the book belonged to the building, he was in a storage warehouse for B.D. Chemicals, which last he heard, had been shut down due to unsafe storage practices.

Which was all very interesting, his mind informed him waspishly, but didn’t tell him how he was going to find April and get both her and Irma past six Foot bots and three mutants.

He pressed a hand to the helmet face and forced himself to stop thinking about all the hundreds of ways things could go wrong.

“What do you mean he escaped?!”

Donatello flinched, then leapt into the rack of suits, holding his breath again as he listened to the rumble of voices outside the door.

“There was nothing in that room for him to use! You told me you stripped him! How did he get free of the shackles?”

“It must have been the girl! He called to her as he was escaping – she must have given him something.”

“Impossible. I searched her myself. She had nothing but that phone. The other turtles must have gotten in somehow. They must have tracked him using those things we took from him.”

Their voices faded, and Donatello crept out of the room, peeking up and down the hall before slipping back. First things first – find the exit. April might be okay to have creeping around while he searched, but everything he knew about Irma said that she would be next to useless in anything but an all-out sprint for the exit, and even then he couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t have to carry her. Second, find out whether April was here, and if so, get her out. Third, get Irma. Fourth, get everyone out.

Armed with a broom and wearing clothes for the first time in he didn’t know how long.

Easy.

 

* * *

 

“And he’s still not picking up,” Leonardo said impatiently, as they stalked back down the storm drains. He knew it wasn't Donatello’s fault that April and Casey had gotten mad at them, but he didn’t know who else to blame. He stabbed the call end button and shoved his phone in his belt. “I know he wants to be alone, but how about some common curtesy? What if there was some kind of mission and we needed him?”

“At seven o’clock at night?” Raphael asked, lifting an eye ridge. “The Kraang’d have to be feeling reeeeal cocky to try that one on for size.”

“It might not be the Kraang! It could be… uh… it could be some kind of rogue mutant, terrorising downtown!”

“And we’d need Donnie for that?” he asked. “Please. Up against anything but the Kraang and Stinkman, Donnie’s more cannon fodder than Mikey.”

“Hey!” Mikey snapped, but Raphael just smirked and continued walking.

“And what’re we supposed to say when Splinter asks where he is?” Leonardo demanded. “You know he’s going to. You know he thinks it’s our job to handle Donatello when he gets like this.”

“So, what, we’re giving up?” Michelangelo asked. “I thought we were just going home to make sure he still isn’t there. There’s like, a million places we haven’t checked yet.”

They reached the drain that led back to their home, and the other two turned to look at him, Raphael folding his arms over his plastron and Leonardo resting one hand on his hip.

“Look, Mikey, we’ve done all we can,” he said, huffing slightly. “If Donatello wants to be on his own to sulk, then let him sulk.”

“Yeah, as long as he’s not creeping out over April, who cares?” Raph asked. “He’ll come back when he’s hungry.”

The other two looked at him, silently pointing out that this was Donatello they were talking about, and his eye twitched slightly.

“Or… when he… you know what I mean. It’s not like he’s going to take off and never come back.”

“But I mean… what if something’s wrong?” Michelangelo insisted. “Like, really wrong? He hasn’t slept in a really long time, and his head’s even more all over the place than usual. He can’t defend himself.”

“This is Donnie,” Leonardo reassured him. “The only time he’s ever gotten himself into trouble without us was when Kirby was missing and sent that encrypted message, and even then, he only did it because Raphael was running his mouth off.”

“Bite me, Leo,” Raphael snapped.

“Kirby’s safe, April’s out of danger, I don’t think he’d go after Karai without me, and no one’s said anything recently to make him feel like he’s got something to prove,” he said. “He’ll be fine. Let the toddler have his tantrum and he’ll come home when he’s ready.”

Michelangelo sagged slightly. “I guess you’re right.”

Leonardo lifted his hand in silent gratitude, then turned and dove into the water, leading the way home.

 

* * *

 

As he made his way back to Irma’s cell, one thing was very clear to Donatello – he was never, ever going to flake out on another reconnaissance lesson. The last hour had been the most torturous of his life, filled with panicked escapes into tight cupboards, barely clinging to ceiling corners, hiding under desks literally two centimetres from Stockman’s fidgety knee… All of it made a thousand times more difficult by the heavy bulk of a suit he was wearing and its horrible, slippery boots.

He’d been spotted no less than four times. Twice he’d managed to convince the Foot bots he was a harmless human (thank whoever built Kraang droids that their processors were built with stealth and battle in mind, not intelligence), once he’d barely made an escape from Bradford’s claws, and once he’d actually been forced to go out a window and cling to a drainpipe.

On the upside, he now knew exactly how he was getting out of here, so long as Irma could stay conscious.

Another upside was that April was definitely not here. From what he could figure out, the Foot really had just been searching the storm drains because they knew both the Kraang and turtles used them. It had actually been a case of horribly good timing on their part that they found him, let alone Irma. And once they’d gotten him, they’d decided to quit while they were ahead.

Somewhere out in the city, there was a Foot bot looking for his brothers, with a knife tied with his bandana. It had been sent out while he was unconscious, and since he’d now escaped, they were assuming said bot had found its target and been destroyed.

Donatello was acutely aware that he needed to get home before the bot found his brothers, or he’d never hear the end of it. There was no shame in having to get rescued from either Rahzar or Fishface, but it was his own fault he’d been captured. He did want to be allowed out of the lair alone in the future.

He peeked into the cell corridor, raising the key card he’d lifted from Stockman’s lab. Empty. So far, so good, but he knew better than to think his luck would last. Capture aside, Lady Luck had been giving him way too many favours today for him to relax.

“Irma!” he hissed as he slunk up to her door. “Irma, are you in there?”

No answer. Not wholly surprising, given the thickness of the door. He swiped the lock and gently pushed the door open.

“Irma?”

“Who’s there?” she demanded, and when he caught sight of her, he had to wince. She looked absolutely terrified and her attempts to act tough were only making it worse. She had her hands up in little fists, crossed under her chin, and she was standing behind the metal table like it could protect her.

He held out his hand, palm up, so she could see the clip he’d barely managed to hang onto through all this. “It’s me, Donnie. I told you I’d come back.”

“Donnie?” she repeated, lowering her fists just a little, before confusion won out over her terror and she gave him a blank look. “Why are you wearing a cleaner’s hazmat?”

“Kind of not the time to explain,” he whispered, twisting so he could check the corridor was still empty. “You ready to get out of here?”

“So yes,” she said, and hurried forward. She hesitated, looking at his hand, and he prayed she would believe it was a glove. In the end, she didn’t comment, just took the clip and put it back in her hair. “Thanks for hanging onto it.”

“Hey, it saved my life today,” he said, then hung the key card around her neck. “We’re going to have to do something incredibly stupid and dangerous to get out of here. Do you think you’re gonna be okay with that?”

“Um… is this a bad time to tell you I have kind of a bad track record with fainting?” she asked weakly, and he grinned. At least she was honest.

“We’ll have to make do. Stay right on my tail.”

There was a beat as he turned away and took a single step, before she said, in a voice that really sounded like she couldn’t help it, “I can’t see it to be on it.”

He blinked, but shook his head and decided to leave that comment aside. This was not the time to waste trying to figure out which of them had said the weird thing. “Come on.”

They hurried down the corridor and out, Donatello pausing at every corner and occasionally dragging her into side rooms when he wasn’t confident. It was during one such pause that Irma seemed to get courage enough to ask, “Is it just me, or is this too easy?”

He glanced down at her. “Uhh… I think it’s mostly because they don’t think I’m here anymore. They’re um… probably thinking I’m gonna come back for you later. Now shh.”

The footsteps passing were heavy but quiet, with only the tell tale click of external bone giving away their position. Bradford was going to check on Irma’s cell. Donatello clenched his teeth and lay his hand on her shoulder. “It’s about to get a whole lot harder. Are you ready to run?”

She wasn’t, as it turned out, but he didn’t have the time to care. He grabbed her wrist and burst out of the cupboard at a dead run.

They made it two corridors before they ran into a couple of bots, which, unarmed and hindered as he was, was enough that Donatello’s best option was yanking Irma into his arms and barrelling through. The pain of blades cutting into his arms and scraping dangerously close to his helmet was enough to spur him on faster, taking the last hallway at a full sprint.

“Ready for the stupid bit?” he shouted.

Irma jerked her head up from where it had been tucked into his shoulder, and looked around. When she saw the broken window he was aiming for, she started scrabbling at his suit. “No! No, no, no, _no_!”

“Sorry about that!” he cried, and leapt.

 

* * *

 

As he was inclined to rise and sleep several hours earlier than his sons, Splinter often didn’t eat with them, either. Their time to have breakfast was his lunch, after all. However, he did often share their ‘lunch’ as his dinner, especially on the weekends when he excused them from training.

This time, however, he merely raised an eyebrow at the empty chair. “Donatello is not joining you again?”

“Ahh… no, sensei,” Leonardo said, tapping his chopsticks together nervously. “He’s um… he’s busy. Doing… you know… science.”

“Is he.”

“Yeah,” he said, darting a glance at his brothers. Raphael stared helplessly back, while Michelangelo was very intent on his noodles. Leonardo swallowed and tried to look confident. “There were beakers.”

“And chemicals,” Raphael agreed.

“And wrenches,” Michelangelo added, and his brothers glared, because that was not the right kind of science. He winced and back pedalled. “I think he might have been using the chemicals to clean his wrenches?”

“I see,” Splinter said, stroking his beard. “And has his mood improved since yesterday?”

“Um…” Leonardo managed, eloquently.

“Perhaps it is indeed time I spoke to him about this,” he said. “He seems to be eating even less than usual. As he is performing… science, I assume he is in his laboratory.”

“Uhh…”

Splinter narrowed his eyes and inclined his head. “But I’m sure he is, of course, very busy. Perhaps you would do me the favour of letting him know I wish to speak with him. At his convenience.”

Leonardo felt himself sinking into his shell, but he still glared at Michelangelo’s quiet ‘should’ve kept look-ing!’

 

* * *

 

“So… gonna keep the suit on, huh? Even though we’re out of the chemical waste dump and away from the bad guys?”

Donatello sighed. He was still carrying her, though he’d switched her onto his back so he could navigate the rooftops more easily. Now they were out of danger, she’d offered to walk herself home, but he didn’t trust her ability to not break down in a gibbering mess the second he left her alone.

He didn’t know a lot about Irma – April didn’t talk about her much, beyond saying she was the only friend that had really tried to stick with her throughout the whole Dad-going-missing-twice-within-a-year thing. But he was getting the impression that she knew a lot more than what she said, and that she was nearing the end of her tolerance for being kept out of the loop.

“I’ve got a lot of dangerous stuff under here,” he said. “Stuff I don’t want you to see.”

“Right,” she said, and patted his shell through the thick fabric. “It’s a heck of a backpack you’ve got here.”

He coughed. “Um. Yeah.”

“You know I heard that scary guy with the accent call you a turtle, right?”

He tripped and fell, hard, and Irma squealed as she was flung off his back and rolled right up to the edge of the roof. He jerked up to make sure she was okay, but she just scrambled up to sitting, holding her fists up in the hopeless cross shape again.

“You’re not going to hurt me now, are you?” she asked. “Because I thought you were okay, but if you’re not, I – I – I know all kinds of martial arts!”

He just stared at her for a long couple of seconds, then sighed and pushed himself to his knees. “You just surprised me, that’s all. Turtle is the name of my group.”

“Yeah, right,” she said, frowning at him. “I can see your hands. Leather doesn’t feel like that, you know. What _are_ you?”

“I’m – I’m a – martial artist. Scientist. Mostly scientist.”

“You’re one of those monsters, aren’t you? Those mutants that have been terrorising the city!”

He winced, realising he didn’t like hearing the word ‘monster’ from any girl’s lips, not just April’s. “Uh…”

“You try anything and I’ll scream so loud the whole neighbourhood will hear!”

“No, don’t!” he said, holding out both hands. “I – I’m not… I’m not a… monster. Really. At least… I…”

She sat in a weird kind of patient panic, halfway between determined and terrified, but waiting nonetheless. He hesitated, then raised his hands again. “Promise me you won’t scream.”

“Are you going to eat me?” she asked. “Bite me?”

“Uh… no?”

“I reserve judgement,” she said firmly, and he had to admit, she probably had good cause.

“O-okay,” he said, and then sighed, lifting his hands to his helmet. He stopped twice before finally getting the guts to take it off properly, and cringed as he met her gaze again.

She blinked, four times. “You – you really are a…”

“Turtle,” he confirmed. “Mutated fifteen years ago. Almost sixteen now, actually. I’m really not going to hurt you.”

“That’s… good to know,” she said, and fainted.

Thankfully, he’d asked for her address when they first got out, so he just had to get her back on his shell. And, since she’d figured things out, he was able to lose the suit, so that made it a whole lot easier.

She woke up just as he was setting her down on her rooftop, and for a horrifying second, he thought she would scream. Instead, her wide eyes travelled down his body and back up again, before weirdly going to his hands.

“You have three fingers.”

He blinked, then lifted his hands up between them. “Six, if you want to be technical.”

“Turtles have ten. Or flippers.”

“Yeah, that’s always kind of bothered me too,” he admitted, and for a long time, they just stared at each other. He was just about to ask if she was okay when she opened her mouth again.

“You’re bleeding. On me.”

He looked down at his blood-covered hands, and then down to the gruesome smudges all over her shirt, hands and thighs. The cuts on his arms weren’t that bad, but they’d bled a lot while he was wearing the suit, and that had splattered the blood all over, which had spread to her when she carried her. He winced. “Sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

“Um… three days of not sleeping is kind of starting to catch up with me,” he admitted. “And blood loss is… not helping.”

She fidgeted awkwardly. “C-can I… call someone? That… friend that was on the date?”

“Uh…” Now he’d said it, he really could feel the lack of sleep hitting hard. He rubbed his face, then sighed and shook his head. “No. I should be getting home, though.”

“Oh. Good, ’cause that creepy zombie dog took my phone.”

“You could go downstairs; this is your apartment building.”

“Oh, thanks,” she said.

Again, they stared at each other awkwardly, until Donatello cleared his throat and stood up, moving to the roof access. He wiped his hand on his leg to clear off some of the blood, then tried the door. When it proved locked, he briefly considered screaming before kicking it down instead.

“Whoa.”

He turned to Irma, then smiled weakly. “I’ve had a bad day.”

“Me too,” she said, and pushed herself to her feet. “Um… so… are you online?”

“Huh?”

“I know that’s a really stupid question to ask a mutant turtle, but um… I think I’m going to freak out soon, and I might need someone to talk to, and I don’t think you want me to tell anyone about you, so um… I’d like a way to talk to you, if that’s okay,” she said. “So do you have like a… phone number, or…?”

“Uh… both, actually,” he said. “Though my phone’s currently… I have both. But no way to write them down for you, or anything.”

“Oh… um… and my parents are gonna freak out when I come home like this, so um… you can’t wait for me to get a pen.”

He rubbed his face again, too tired and worn out and stressed to care anymore. “Ask April O’Neil for Donatello’s phone number. When she says she doesn’t know what you’re talking about, tell her a giant talking turtle threatened to hack your bank details if you didn’t get it.”

Irma stared at him for a few seconds, then snickered, before breaking down in hysterical giggles. “Is it wrong to want to say ‘I knew it’?”

He couldn’t help but laugh too.

 

* * *

 

They’d found a Foot bot with Donatello’s bandana.

Raphael was near mindless with fury, while Leonardo was very nearly panicking, because this was _all their fault_ for not looking for him earlier. They rushed back home to tell Splinter, only to nearly trip over themselves when they got back to see Donatello himself, struggling to climb up the subway platform with blood-covered arms.

“Dude!” Michelangelo yelled, and tackled him off his feet.

He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

 

* * *

 

He woke up in stages.

The first time, he was lying on the dojo floor, and Master Splinter was bathing his face. “Sensei,” he mumbled.

“Sleep now,” he said softly. “I have you, my son.”

He dropped off again, only to wake up in his bedroom, with Raphael pacing the space beside his bed, muttering under his breath. He was awake enough to smile, say hi, and laugh weakly at Raphael’s panicked expression before falling under again.

The third time, it wasn’t really that he was awake, so much as he wasn’t sleeping, as he stumbled into the bathroom and drank straight from the tap. He had a vague memory of Leonardo gaping at him, but that could have been a dream.

When he finally woke up properly, it was to a heavy weight across his calves, and the familiar smell of dust and pizza that was so very Michelangelo. He smiled into his pillow. “Keeping watch, Mikey?”

“Hey!” he said cheerfully, and there was the sound of a comic being chucked aside. “You’re awake! Seriously, dude, we were beginning to think burmation!”

“It’s not winter,” he mumbled, then turned his head to try and see him. “How long was I out?”

“Uhh… twenty hours, give or take. Master Splinter figured you were catching up on a couple days’ worth,” he said, then lowered his voice into quiet concern. “How you feeling, bro?”

He paused to take stock. His arms stung, his whole body felt heavy with sleep, and he could eat a horse. He sorted it into priority. “Hungry.”

“So not burmation,” he said, and jumped to his feet. “No worries, D. I’ll go grab you some food. Feeling up to pizza?”

“Whatever’s fastest,” he said. “And can you get a T-Phone from my lab? I’m expecting a call and need to put my number into one that hasn’t exploded.”

“Yeah, April’s been kinda miffed that you haven’t talked to her lately. We didn’t tell her about all this ’cause we wanted to know what the deal was first, but –”

“Mikey?” he interrupted. “Food please?”

“Gotcha. Coming right up!” He shut the door behind him, but he may as well not have waited for all that it muffled the “ _Donnie’s alive, guys_!”

He laughed into his pillow, then slowly pushed himself up enough to roll onto his shell, where he could check his arms more easily. His biceps were heavily wrapped, blood staining the bandage on the right, but his forearms seemed healed.

“Mutant healing for the win,” he muttered, and stretched both arms high overhead until his joints cracked. He noticed his mask hanging off one of his storage crates, and was just leaning over to get it when the door opened.

“My son, it is good to see you awake,” Splinter said, and Donatello noticed Leonardo and Raphael peeking around him as he entered. The fact he shut the door in their faces made Donatello grin.

“Morning… evening… good afternoon, Sensei?” he guessed, grabbing his mask and sitting back. “Thank you for patching me up.”

“It needs no gratitude,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Only an explanation.”

“I… screwed up,” he said, and launched into the quick and dirty version of the events. “Rahzar, Fishface, Baxter Stockman and some Foot bots were combing the sewers, trying to find us. I wasn’t being careful and they managed to catch me. They wanted me to make retro-mutagen, but when I told them I couldn’t, they decided to just use me as bait instead. While I was there, I discovered they’d also managed to capture April’s friend Irma. After a couple of false starts, I got out okay; even managed to get her free. But getting her out meant I had to rush a couple of Foot bots with no weapons or much ability to defend myself, so…” He lifted his arms in both a shrug and demonstration.

“Why did you have no weapons?” he asked. “I have told you, many times –”

“Well, first they stripped me clean. Then, I was using a broom for a little while, but it got destroyed pretty quick.”

“And how did you become defenceless?”

“I was carrying Irma, and uh… wearing a… big, heavy suit,” he said awkwardly. “I wasn’t exactly at my most agile.”

Splinter raised a silent eyebrow, and Donatello winced.

“I was trying to hide the fact I was a turtle. Pointlessly, it turns out, because Fishface had already called me one in front of her, and I couldn’t cover up my hands, but I was trying,” he said, then leaned forward. “Seriously, sensei, how do you manage to be so fast while wearing stuff?”

“It depends on the clothing you wear,” he said. “There is a difference between a robe and a suit of armour.”

“I guess.”

“I shall meditate on these issues you encountered. Neither should have been unexpected, and yet I realise I have never trained you to anticipate such a situation,” he said, then reached for Donatello’s right arm. He lifted the bandage, and they were both pleased to see most of the damage was gone – it was mostly just a single long slice now, though the wound clearly needed cleaning. His left was better still, mostly healed to bruising. Once he was satisfied with both, Splinter sat back and gave him a steely glare. “You did well to succeed, however I do not need to remind you it only came about because of your irresponsibility.”

Donatello winced, ducking his head. “Hai, sensei.”

“This past year has been one long example of you allowing your emotions to get the better of you. I have tolerated it, for I know you are young, and such things are to be expected. However, this cannot continue,” he said, every word short and clipped. “In the days leading up to this, you failed to care for your body. Such actions cause detriment not only to yourself, but to your family, who worry for you. And while I understand you are capable of operating with very little sleep, you should well know that I do not doubt luck had a great impact on your success yesterday. A ninja should never rely on luck.”

He shrunk awkwardly. “Hai, sensei.”

“You are grounded for a week.”

It would have been less if it was his brothers being punished, but the fact of it was that Donatello was generally happy enough being stuck in his lab, so grounding him rarely had the same impact. He nodded. “Hai, sensei.”

“During this time, you shall sleep, eat, and rise to my schedule. You shall attend three meals a day, and if I should learn of you leaving your bedroom after such time as I instruct, the time shall be lengthened. Is this clear?”

That was slightly more painful, but he knew the hit came from care, so he just winced and asked, “Um… what about patrol? Missions?”

“I will speak to Leonardo,” he said. “I am certain the team can do without you, for a week.”

Ouch. Very, very ouch. “Hai, sensei.”

The hand on his shoulder was warm and kind, though, and when he looked up, it was to find a gentle smile. “I am proud, and very glad, that you are alright, Donatello.”

And really, that almost made the punishment worth it.

 

* * *

 

“So, wait, you have _another_ human friend?” Michelangelo cried, as Donatello tapped in a reply to Irma’s instant message. April had apparently freaked out when Irma spoke to her, but then kind of freaked out in a good way, because she was so glad she could finally tell Irma the truth. Irma was now freaking out because the truth was a lot bigger than just mutant turtles fighting mutant zombie dogs. “Another _girl_ human friend?”

“It must be something about April,” Leonardo mused, glancing back at them from where he was watching TV. “Eventually, we’ll probably know all her friends.”

“Are you sure we don’t already?” Raphael piped up. “She never talks about them. Maybe Casey and Irma are all she’s got.”

“No, I can’t believe that,” Donatello said. “Someone as great as April has to have loads of friends, right? She’s just trying not to make us feel left out by not telling us.”

They all stared at him, and he blinked back. “What?”

“You’re still talking about her like that?” Raphael asked blankly. “Wait, you don’t still _like_ her, do you?”

“Of course I do,” he said, blushing. “I’m not going to stop being her friend just because she went on a date.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t,” he said, but knew the blush on his face said something completely different. “And even if I did, my answer would be the same.”

Michelangelo clapped him on the shoulder, shaking his head. “You are so sad, my friend. So sad.”

He shoved him off the couch, wishing the other two were closer so he could do the same to them.

“So,” Leonardo said slowly. “Does Irma want to meet us?”

“Not yet, I don’t think,” he said, checking over the walls of text Irma was sending. “I think she’s still a little overwhelmed by everything April told her.”

“I guess that’s fair,” he said. “Keep us in the loop though, huh?”

“Sure, I’ll let you know as soon as she’s up for it.” He continued waiting patiently for Irma to finish her current round of typed panic, but something made him look up, and he realised Leonardo was still watching him. Raphael was too, but more subtly, his head pointed toward the TV, and Michelangelo’s only tell was the fact he’d sat back so his arm was pressed against Donatello’s leg. He raised an eye ridge. “Was there something else?”

“No,” Leonardo said. “Just… you know… we looked for you and all, and we wouldn’t have found you even if we’d known what was happening, but…”

Donatello’s eye ridge went higher. “You aren’t seriously feeling guilty.”

“No,” he said again, but then stopped and lowered his eyes. “But we never even knew you might be in trouble, you know? If something _had_ happened…”

“ _I_ worried,” Michelangelo said proudly, and patted Donatello’s foot. “I told them, bro. I told them you were all weird in the head, and that something might happen to you, but did they listen? No… No one ever listens to me!”

Donatello looked down at him, because it was a lot easier to respond to him than Leonardo or Raphael’s vague feelings of self-recrimination. “Wow. Nice to know you have so much faith in me, Mikey.”

“No pr- hey!”

“And dude,” He looked back up at Leonardo, then over at Raphael. “I was gone for like, five hours. After sulking for three days straight. Seriously, I’m kind of annoyed that you came looking for me at _all_.”

Raphael smirked. “Well, we wouldn’t’ve had to if you weren’t such a stalker.”

“Also, the sulking was getting out of hand,” Leonardo agreed with a grin. “You’re gonna have to excuse us for worrying about you, drama queen.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, going back to his laptop. “Maybe next time you’ll actually manage to do something about it.”

“Ho! I do believe I just heard a challenge,” Raphael snapped playfully. “You callin’ us useless?”

“No, just…” He pretended to think about it for a few seconds, and tapped a quick ‘BRB’ to Irma. “Emotionally useless. So, I guess, yeah. Yeah, I am.”

He had just enough time to set his laptop aside before Raphael tackled him, and things got back to normal.

**Author's Note:**

> The 48 are a collection of unfinished and/or pointless fics saved to my hard drive, now posted to Ao3 for people's interest or in case they want to adopt them.
> 
> This was obviously written before the end of season... two, was it? Back when we all thought Irma was human and going to be Donnie's consolation prize, because we also (foolishly, in hindsight) thought Donatello was still the driving force of the plot and not a plot device to give his better, more kid-story friendly brothers new toys.
> 
> No, I'm not bitter, what are you talking about?


End file.
